


twenty foods Kagami loves

by troisroyaumes



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Community: basketballpoetsociety, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troisroyaumes/pseuds/troisroyaumes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kagami's favorite foods, from childhood to adolescence, from LA to Tokyo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twenty foods Kagami loves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [basketballpoetsociety's](http://basketballpoetsociety.tumblr.com) third challenge: [twenty things](http://basketballpoetsociety.tumblr.com/post/40167452284/challenge-3-twenty-things-fic).
> 
> Thanks to readerofasaph for quick canon checks and a last-minute proofread.

1\. He’s a connoisseur of French fries, in every form, whether it be the soggy, oil-drenched fries from McDonald’s, the starch-encrusted fries at Burger King’s, the too salty fries from Wendy’s. He’s gorged himself on ten orders of the light, crisp, golden fries at In-N-Out, covered with their secret sauce and grilled onions. He’s sampled shoestring fries (inhaled by the handful), waffle fries (perfect for scooping up dollops of ketchup), steak fries (hearty and filling), curly fries (fun to eat, especially when you’re five and like to play with your food).

His favorite though are the fries you can get at the food court in the local mall: served in a paper boat, drenched with chili and cheese.

2\. On special occasions, his family goes out to eat at Pizza Hut, and Taiga gets to order a personal pan pizza of his very own. He always chooses pepperoni. By the time he’s nine, one personal pan pizza is no longer enough; his parents shake their heads and let him order breadsticks too.

3\. He actually likes the chicken nuggets they serve in his elementary school cafeteria. He dips them in barbecue sauce before every bite, making sure to leave enough sauce for all the nuggets.

4\. The first meal his father made for him, on a Sunday evening when his mother was working at the office, was two slices of Wonder bread and a Kraft single in between, plus thirty seconds in the microwave.

Later on, Taiga would learn to use a frying pan and a little margarine; he’d make five for himself on evenings spent at home alone and eat them in front of the television.

5\. When he enters first grade, his parents start sending him to Japanese school on weekends, which he thinks is completely unfair because he gets twice as much homework that way. But the best part about Japanese school is that they give all the students azuki ice pops during their lunch recess. Taiga dozes through most of the lessons but he’s always first in line for the popsicles.

6\. The tangy, sticky sauce on General Tso’s chicken, which he licks off his fingers when his mother isn’t watching.

7\. Also, the fortune cookies that come with every takeout order. His parents hand theirs over to him, so he gets to eat three.

8\. The first meal he cooks for himself—and really cooks, not just heating up in the microwave—is a simplified version of tonkatsu. He takes out a pork chop, adds salt and pepper, cracks an egg over it and covers with bread crumbs. The result looks like a mess, but it’s surprisingly delicious. He keeps making it, even after he learns how to make a tonkatsu properly.

9\. On Fridays, he goes to Tatsuya’s house after school. Tatsuya wraps up sweet potatoes in foil and roasts them in the oven. A cloud of steam rises when he gingerly takes off the foil; he splits each one in half and shares them with Taiga. Every time, he burns the ceiling of his mouth in his impatience to eat the treat.

10\. “I want a burrito,” he says.

“What kind of meat?”

“Carnitas.”

“What kind of beans?”

“Pinto.”

“Guacamole, cheese, salsa, sour cream?”

“Everything.” Taiga watches as the man behind the counter deftly assembles all the ingredients on a flour tortilla and wraps it up with a quick flick of the wrists. Behind him, Alex sighs loudly.

“I can’t believe you’re eating this crap. It doesn’t deserve to be called Mexican food. I bet I could make you something ten times better.”

“You hate to cook,” Taiga points out and happily takes a bite out of his burrito.

11\. Alex never does cook for him, but instead she takes him and Tatsuya to her mother’s, who cooks them tamales filled with chicken slow-cooked in her special mole that makes Taiga’s mouth burn. Taiga still likes burritos, but he looks forward to the times when Alex visits home and brings back several gallon-sized bags of frozen tamales.

12\. His mother works long hours during the week, so she usually does all the cooking on Saturday, packing up single-serving portions in neat stacks of Tupperwares to be stored in the fridge and brought out the night before to thaw before being popped into the microwave. Her standby is kare, which she makes with pork, onion and carrots.

Some weeks, he eats it every day; he never gets tired of it.

13\. On hot dry summer afternoons he eats giant yellow peaches, the size of softballs. They’re best when overripe: soft and juicy, ready to burst in your hands.

14\. It never gets cold in Los Angeles, but there is a chill to the air on certain evenings, which he forever associates with the smell of fresh orange peel. His favorite are blood oranges, sharp and sweet, for no other reason than that they are the same color as his hair.

15\. Taiga is a bit of a purist about hot dogs: he likes his frankfurter on a bun with ketchup and mustard and nothing else.

16\. In the mornings, if he gets up early, he can catch his parents before they go to work. They stand at the kitchen counter and all eat bowls of Corn Pops together. His mother and father eat cereal without milk but make Taiga add it to his—“Milk makes your bones strong, Taiga”—so he always asks for Corn Pops at the supermarket because it doesn’t get soggy as quickly as the others.

17\. The popcorn you get at the movies, with melted butter dripping over the white puffed kernels.

18\. Also at the movies: a large Icee, with blueberry and cherry flavors swirled together. He stirs it with the bright red straw through the plastic domed lid until it starts turning purple. He has trouble falling asleep afterwards, too excited by the sugar rush; those are the times when he and Tatsuya stay out late, playing one-on-one.

19\. He’s had okonomiyaki before but the first time he orders it in Japan, he realizes that well, maybe he’s never actually had okonomiyaki before, only approximations. The chef at the restaurant makes it in front of him on a giant flat grill, stacking on top of the usual layers of cabbage and batter with slices of pork belly, squid, slices of squash and cucumber and carrots, and finally, a layer of giant bonito flakes and a crisscrossing pattern of mayonaise. Taiga, with a sense of respectful awe, accepts the final creation with a bow and devours it immediately. To his amazement, when he’s finished, he feels completely full.

20\. Most burgers seem interchangeable to him. One patty or two, pickles and lettuce and tomato, nothing at all, swiss cheese, cheddar cheese, blue cheese, no cheese, ketchup, barbecue sauce, mayonaise, mustard, aioli, ranch, avocado, bacon strips, mushrooms, even potato chips—

He’s probably tried every combination possible and found them all equally enjoyable, equally forgettable. A burger exists to fill your stomach.

Or so he thinks, until the day he’s too sick to go to school, even just to attend practice, and Hyuuga-senpai comes by with a bag. Blearily, he sits up and bites into the burger that’s held out to him.

“…this from Maji Burger?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course. Where else would it be?”

“Huh,” he says and finishes the whole thing in three bites.


End file.
